


Picture-deep

by FangedAngel



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010) RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/FangedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawaii and Alex are a dangerously intoxicating mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture-deep

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mentions of Alex's ADHD, abuse of the words 'sun,' 'eyes,' and 'smile.' Stream of consciousness. Inventing reality.  
> Written for the 'pictures' prompt for k_b.

Hawaii clings to him at all times, like a cursed blessing. He wakes up with the feel of Hawaii on his face, and the taste of Hawaii on his tongue, and the almost surreal sight of it, unfolding outside his window. He doesn't know when it happened, when Hawaii managed to slip under his skin, like the sun that always tries to leave lines on him, the sun that bleaches his hair. He only knows that he misses it when he's away, he misses the blinding sunlight and the pouring rain and the aching beauty. He doesn't feel like himself when he's gone, the mainland not quite his home anymore. He misses the light when he's gone, the light that makes his pictures perfect, the light that blends with shadows to create beauty.

Alex is as much part of Hawaii as the sun that warms skin and the salt that clings to air. When Scott traces patterns over Alex's skin, it feels warm under his fingers, like the sun-kissed sand. When Scott presses his lips to Alex's back, he can taste the ocean's salt. When Scott wakes up to Alex sleeping next to him, bathed in light and contoured by shadows, Scott realises that he's never felt like he belonged anywhere, not until now. When Scott is on the mainland, surrounded by familiar faces that now seem strange, faces that have never been touched by Hawaii's light, he feels lost, restless, alone. In the dark of the city he used to love, despite its tarnished purity and its hollow artificial lights, he thinks of Alex's smile, and Alex's eyes. He thinks of belonging to Hawaii, and he thinks of Alex not belonging to him and something in him wants to resort to the angry rebellion of his youth, but it's too late for that.

When he goes back to Hawaii, Alex waits for him at the airport, every single time, and it always feels like homecoming. They don't talk about it because there's no need to. Scott makes no demands and Alex offers no excuses. It feels natural, the way they are together, this pattern in which they've managed to entangle themselves in. There are no words for it, nothing but the natural flow of their evenings together, the pace they always follow, Alex's laughter and Alex's eyes, dinner and Longboards and then clothes disappearing and Scott chasing the faint trace of alcohol on Alex's tongue.

Scott always listens to Alex breathing, after, just in case the asthma decides to whisper its presence, but it hardly ever does. They're both safe here, in the tranquillity of the haven they've found.

"I knew it was home the moment I landed," Alex says one morning, before he stretches and jumps off the bed, and Scott tries to hide how much he hates the emptiness in his arms when Alex is gone but Alex sees it all written on his face anyway.

Scott enjoys Alex even when he's being so hyperactive it borders insanity, even that one time Alex got so obsessive over overcoming his fear of surfing that he nearly drowned again just to prove he could. Scott pulled him out then, and rubbed his shoulders while waiting for Alex to finish coughing, and then Alex kissed him, the first time, and Scott was blindsided by the combination of Alex and the ocean, and the intoxicating light that surrounded them.

They try to escape from filming between takes to have dinner together whenever they can, and Scott lets Alex talk, cherishing the almost unintelligible torrent of words that rush out of Alex in his excitement over this and that take, cherishing the Australian nuance in his voice. When Alex falls silent, it's Scott who talks, even when Alex seems far away, even when it seems like Alex is not listening to a word he's saying. Scott just keeps talking, and after a few minutes Alex turns to him with a smile, his fingers brushing over Scott's palm. Scott wants to ask, sometimes, whether anyone else can give Alex this, but only out of curiosity, not out of anger or jealousy. He wants to know if this is only as special as it is for him, but then Alex looks at him, with those eyes that Scott can never turn away from, those eyes that Scott dreams of, and he knows all that he needs to know.

He has an odd sort of life here, but he has a life with Alex. Scott doesn't think this thing between them is comprised of stolen moments, because it doesn't feel like he's setting a claim to anything that he shouldn't. They know each other, and they understand each other, and it's been like this since day one.

"I knew about you, too, the second I saw you," Alex says on another of their shared mornings, walking back from his shower, his hair wet and his skin damp. Scott is still tangled in the sheets they've made a mess of, smoking one of his rare cigarettes and getting glared at for it. Alex pounces on him, and Scott sees him as Danny sees Steve for a second, this giant of a man looming over him. Alex takes a drag from the cigarette before unceremoniously crushing it in the ashtray, and he laughs when Scott kisses him, and Scott realises that they both taste like ash. For once, Alex doesn't need to hurry, doesn't need to run off somewhere and do a ridiculous amount of exercising. He compensates by mapping all of Scott's body with fingers and lips, until Scott can't even think beyond pushing Alex to the bed and just taking him.

He wants to photograph Alex every minute of every day. He wants the picture of Alex, in grainy black and white, sleeping on his stomach, white sheets around him, his back exposed, his tattoos drawing the eye. He wants the picture of Alex on a surfboard, laughing at him, averting his eyes whenever Scott praises his progress. He wants the picture of Alex's silence, and the picture of his face when he's talking so fast he's on another frequency altogether. He wants every single moment, and every single breath. He wants the shadow of his fingers over Alex's skin, and he wants Alex's lips, parted, so close to the camera he could almost be kissing it, a tantalizing promise. He wants everything, and he says it, he whispers it in Alex's ear and kisses it on Alex's temple, and Alex pulls him down and takes his mouth with a hunger that almost makes Scott's brain collapse.

"Do it," Alex says, in the middle of the night, his legs around Scott, his lips red, his breath shallow. Scott lets his fingers trace one of the tattoos before kissing Alex again, and he can see the pictures in his head, he can see them forming from nothing to bursts of colour or plays of shadow, he can see them, he can almost touch them.

"No," Scott says, and thrusts harder, and the beginning of a frown melts from Alex's face, and Alex's voice breaks, and Scott can't breathe.

They lie together afterward, with Alex too tired to feel like running around, with Scott so drunk on Alex he still can't catch his breath.

"Why?" Alex asks, his fingers on Scott's lips, sticky and salty and sweet, calling to Scott's tongue .  
Scott thinks of the garish lights of his past, of motel rooms that smell like meaningless sex, he thinks of photographing naked bodies shaped by bright lamps. He kisses the taste of Alex's fingers, he kisses the softness of Alex's wrist, and Alex's lips curl in that lazy smile Scott will never know how not to adore.

Minutes or hours later, Scott remembers the question, and he knows the answer.

"You're more than anything I can capture in a picture. And this is not something I want anyone else to see. This is for me. Not for the camera, not for the world, just for me.”

For a moment, Alex has that faraway look in his eyes, and Scott doesn’t know whether to keep talking or shut up. He watches Alex’s fingers fiddling with the edges of the pillow they’re sharing.

Silence stretches between them, and it makes Scott nervous, for once. He repeats his words in his head, wincing at how revealing they are. There are things they don’t say to each other, and this hits too close. Alex knows how much Scott loves to take pictures of everything. He always has one of his cameras with him, he always stops in the middle of the street, making everyone crash into him, just because he’s noticed the perfect shot from the corner of his eye. Alex knows how much Scott loves photography, how much it’s part of him. And Alex now also knows that Scott can’t even share him with his camera, and Alex will know exactly what it means. It pushes the boundaries, and Scott looks at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe. He glances at the desk, where his camera is sitting, patiently waiting for Scott to pick it up again. His fingers tingle with the need to reach for it, but before he can move off the bed, Alex ruffles his hair, and when Scott looks at him, the look in Alex’s eyes is so soft and tender it almost breaks his heart.

“Hey, Scotty,” he says, with that ridiculous grin on his face.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Scott replies, his breath catching, either the effect of Alex tracing his face with his fingers or the effect of that look.

“Scotty, I think you should stay. Stay here with me. I know that you need to. I’ve always known. I was just waiting for you to make up your mind.”

Scott stares at him, and Alex nuzzles his face and sprints out of bed. The noise of the shower running seems almost too mundane now that Scott’s world seems to have turned upside down. He curls into the warmth Alex has left on the sheets, his eyes closing. He feels a sort of wild laughter bubbling in his chest, and for one glorious second, Hawaii and Alex belong to him as much as he belongs to them.


End file.
